


Fire Emblem: Omangoing

by iavenjqasdf



Series: Bad [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Other, bad, stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4380053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/pseuds/iavenjqasdf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stupid crackfic I wrote that turned surprisingly serious</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Emblem: Omangoing

It was a beautiful summer day in Ylisse. The birds were chirping and the sky was bright and blue with nary a cloud in sight. The sun shined brightly upon the camp where the Shepherds had set up for the night, and gradually they were roused from their slumbers. Brady and Lon’qu were on kitchen duty, and by the time the rest of the camp had woken the delicious aromas of their cooking drifted throughout the barracks.

There came a pounding on the door of the mess hall. “Hold yer horses, Stahl!” Brady called from the kitchen. He could set a watch by the cavalier’s arrival, if such a thing existed. By the time Lon’qu unlatched the door, a small crowd had gathered, and they flooded into the mess tent, seating themselves among comrades and love interests. The air was alive with the sounds of gossip and reviews of the day’s plans, and as Brady brought out the main course he smiled as he watched everyone enjoying themselves.

Everyone, that is, but Owain.

Brady usually left their tent in the early morning hours before the myrmidon awoke, careful not to disturb his slumber (in which he muttered some nonsense about his sword hand or somesuch) on his way to kitchen duty. But this morning, the bed felt oddly light. It was too dark to make out anything, so he had assumed Owain was out practicing his “signature moves” or some other lovable ridiculousness like that, but now not seeing him show up for breakfast worried him. If he had been training all night, he had to have been hungry.

Where WAS he?

As the buzz of the room died down and was replaced by the sounds of cutlery and chewing (and the occasional burp… thanks, Stahl), Brady found his usual spot by Inigo and Gerome, and noted the empty seat where Owain normally sat by his side. He set his plate down and looked at the other two, who were busy alternating between shoveling food into their mouths and gazing at each other in such a way it was a mystery how they thought their relationship was a secret to anyone.

“Uh, have either of ya seen Owain?” he asked, popping a slice of mango into his mouth. He hadn’t been feeling particularly hungry this morning, so he skipped the main course in favor of some of the fruit they had found in the storeroom.

Inigo shook his head in response before stuffing another spoonful of bear stew into his mouth (Ever since he was tricked into trying some, Fredrick secretly couldn’t get enough, and had had Lon’qu keep it on the menu almost every day for the past week). Gerome grunted in a way Brady had learned meant “no”, too, chewing a large hunk of bread he was dipping in his own stew.

“Then where the hell is he?!” Brady exclaimed, a little too loudly judging by the stern glance/death glare his mother gave him from the next table. He sheepishly sat back down, not realizing he had stood up slightly during his outburst, and kept his gaze on his plate for the rest of the meal. He was worried about his boyfriend, but he told himself that the poet could take care of himself just fine. Besides, how could Brady do his job in an empty stomach?

After the meal was over and everyone had dispersed to their respective duties, Brady sprinted over to the tent he shared with Owain and glanced inside, hoping to catch a sight of the swordsman (ideally in an advanced stage of undress and arousal) inside, but he had no such luck. He kicked the foot of the bed in frustration, immediately regretting his decision as he clutched his toes in agony, trying in vain to hold back the sobs he knew would come. He muttered every curse he knew to himself under his breath (which was a rather small collection given his decorous upbringing), and glanced upward when he heard the tent flap rustle open.

“'Bout time ya showed up, ya jackfart!” he grumbled, voice cracking, at the guest, before realizing it wasn’t Owain, but Henry who was paying him a visit. “Ah, dangit, it’s you. Whadaya want, Henry?” he scowled as he got to his feet, hoping his injury hadn’t triggered the mage’s shark-like blood senses.

“Hiya, Brady! I heard the commotion over at breakfast and wanted to check in, nya-ha! Did Tharja curse the plates again? That’d be so good!” he giggled in his creepily-childlike voice. He gave Brady the willies, but he knew better than to say so and get on his bad side. He had once spilled soup on his sweater during dinner, and learned there were some very… uncomfortable places his lips could be hexed to.

“Everythin’s fine, I just haven’t seen Owain since I got up. Have ya heard anythin’?” he replied, trying to inconspicuously rub his hurt foot against his calf to soothe the pain.

“Nope! Not a squawk, ha ha!” Henry giggled (seriously, why did he giggle so much? Was there a really good joke he wasn’t sharing with everyone else?), “I haven’t seen that ol’ fruit around anywhere!”.

He had barely started make another corvid pun when Brady slapped him across the face.

“Don’tcha DARE call Owain that again, or I’ll snag yer dumb birds and make ‘em into stew! Got it?!” he growled at the creepy boy, forgetting how hollow his threats would be to someone who could turn his blood into pudding with a snap of his pale fingers if he so desired. To his surprise, he wasn’t vaporized on the spot, instead Henry’s grin faltered momentarily, and Brady found himself more scared seeing Henry’s facial expression change than he’d ever been of his powers on the battlefield. He quickly uttered a silent prayer. At least he’d die defending his lover’s honor.

“I probably deserved that, nya-ha!~ Anyway, good luck finding whoever it was you were looking for again!” he giggled before exiting the tent. Brady muttered another curse in relief before dropping onto the bed with a sigh, stretching his arms out, grateful for the relief after having his elbows tucked in in the crowded kitchen all morning. He felt his left fingertips bump into something by Owain’s pillow, and he turned to see what it was. Had the dummy left one of his naughty “heroic props” out in plain sight again? He rolled over towards the object and picked it up, examining it.

It was a mango.

That’s odd… he could’ve sworn they’d chopped up the last of them this morning for breakfast, unless someone had snuck one out for later. But why would they have left it in his tent? Unless it was Owain that stole it… but Owain wasn’t at breakfast! This didn’t make any sense. He sat up and examined the mango. It seemed to be a completely ordinary fruit, ripe and decently sized, just like the ones they had eaten that morning. He turned it over in his hands, looking for a note or any other explanation for what it was doing in his bed.

Then he saw it.

The brand.

Owain’s brand.

“The hell…?” There it was, clear as day; the same brand his boyfriend had was clearly inscribed in the skin of the mango. It didn’t look like it was drawn on or like it was a weird bruise; it was as if…

Oh no.

Oh, GODS.

Brady heaved as he remembered chopping up the mangoes that morning. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he could’ve sworn one of them had reminded him of… someone. What was his name? He always wore big armor and he hadn’t seen him at breakfast, either come to think of it. Kelly? Keenan? Something like that? Anyway, the mango had reminded him of him somehow, and though he paid it no mind at the time, a sick realization crept into his gut.

No way. It couldn’t be. This had to be a misunderstanding or something. The thought that his lover, companion and friend had been transformed into a delicious piece of tropical fruit was too much for Brady to bear. He grabbed the nearest pillow to muffle his sobs as tears flowed forth again. He had grabbed Owain’s pillow and he cried even harder as he detected the scent of the swordsman’s hair on it. Would he ever feel his warm embrace upon a cold night again? How could he share an intimate moment with a mango?

Eventually his tears gave away to sleep, and when he awoke the sun was high in the sky. It was about noon, he reckoned, and as he blinkerld opened his salt-crusted eyes he hoped the events of the morning would be revealed to be a bizarre nightmare. Of course, that would mean he’d be chewed out for sleeping through breakfast duty, but he’d take a thousand of Sully’s berations to know his boyfriend was safe and not a mango.

He put the dampened pillow back in place and reached for the mango. His fingers grabbed at air. Odd, he could’ve sworn he’d left it right there… He propped himself up on one arm and checked under the sheets. Nothing. He frantically searched the entire tent, hoping to find that it had rolled under the bed or something. No dice.

Great, not only was his boyfriend now a mango, but a vanishing mango. (Vanishing Mango… Brady made a mental note of that. That would be a great name for the musical ensemble he hoped to form once he had the time to hone his violin skills once again.)

But that had to wait. First, they’d have to win the war, and Owain’s sword hand, twitchy as it was, was indispensable in doing so. Brady readjusted his robes and left the tent, knowing exactly who he wanted to talk to about the mango’s disappearance.

Stahl was in the mess tent, exactly where the healer knew he would be, devouring his fourth helping of roast boar. In any other circumstance Brady would have found the cavalier’s gluttony detestable, but he definitely earned his share after he saved Panne from becoming part of a bandit’s pelt yesterday.

“Oh, hey, Brady! I could tell something was up, the food doesn’t have that little… Something you give it. Where’ve ya been?” he said between bites, crumbs and bits of meat falling from his mouth. Brady scoffed at his lack of manners. Had he been raised in a barn? Wait, no, that was Donnell he was thinking of.

“Were ya lookin’ fer me earlier? Cause someone swiped a mango from my tent while I was restin’, and I know yer able to sniff out uncovered food from a mile away.” Brady questioned, glaring at Stahl, who looked relaxed as ever as he took a swig of mead to wash down his last bite.

“Nope, been training and eating all day. Miriel was with me the whole time, ask her if ya don’t believe me.” he replied, glancing up at Brady, ready to take another bite before realization struck and he lowered his fork. “Wait a minute… Are you calling me a crook? That’s Gaius’s job, not mine.” he said with a scowl, or as close as he could come to scowling, anyway.

Brady silently cursed at his stupidity. Something sweet goes missing from right under his nose, and his first suspect is Stahl?! The man couldn’t steal a glance at a staring contest. Brady muttered an apology as he shuffled out of the mess tent.

Unlike Stahl, Gaius’s movements around the camp were less predictable. Which, of course, was essential for someone I’m his line of work. He didn’t exactly become a master thief by telling everyone where he would be and when he’d be there and how if they would just be so kind as to leave their valuables out somewhere easy to reach that would great, thanks.

Luckily, Brady didn’t have to waste much time looking for him, since he happened to be looking for Brady at the same time.

“Looking for someone?” Gaius said, startling Brady. He turned around and stumbled back a bit when he saw the thief was less than a foot away from him.

“Gah! Don’t sneak up on me like that! Yer gonna gimme a heart attack!” Brady stammered, quickly collecting himself when he saw it was the man he was looking for.

“Eh, you can fix those right?“ Gaius quipped, not waiting for an answer before continuing."Anyway, I wanted to ask you where’d you’d been at lunch. We had to have KJELLE fill in for ya. I didn’t know it was possible to burn stew, but she managed to.”

“Actually, I was lookin’ fer ya as well. I was, uh, restin’ in my tent, and someone nabbed my mango while I was out.” His eyes narrowed. “Ya wouldn’t know anythin’ about THAT, wouldja?”“

Gaius scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I’ve got better things to do than snoop around my buddies’ tents, kiddo. Why you so worried about a mango, anyway?”

Brady’s face went pale. Dumbass! Gaius had saved his skin more times than he cared to remember. Did he honestly trust him with his life, yet not with a mango? That said mango may have been his boyfriend was irrelevant; if Gaius would betray his trust and snatch something from his tent, he probably had a damn good reason.

“Ahh, yet right. I’m a fool. Sorry, Gaius.” Brady mumbled as he awkwardly shuffled away again. Gaius rolled his eyes again and snuck off once again, probably looking to sweet talk Stahl out of his dessert.

Brady had no more leads, and he felt awful of suspecting his friends of stealing like this. His head was still spinning in fury from Henry’s fruit comment earlier, and he felt like-

Wait a minute.

Henry.

Fruit.

Mangoes are a fruit.

THE BASTARD.

Brady took off running to the mage’s quarters, nearly frothing at the mouth. He didn’t have the best relationship with the Plegian weirdo, but would he really go so far as to hex Brady’s boyfriend into a mango as revenge? Guess he was about to find out.

Brady burst into Henry’s tent, mirroring his earlier actions. Henry looked up from his tome, curling his toes in glee at the gory spells depicted within.

“Hey again, Brady! I just read about how to make someone’s eyeballs come outta their nose! Wanna see?” he giggled with more glee than Brady felt was appropriate for such a thought. He’d hate to be the healer for anyone that pissed off this kid.

“Cut the crap, birdbrain! I know it was you! Spit it out, what didja do with Owain?” Brady hissed, stomping with surprising haste to Henry’s side.

“Nya-ha! What about him? Is he all ripe?” the mage giggled, before scrambling backwards as the taller man approached him menacingly.

“CAN IT WITH THE DAMN PUNS! WHERE THE HELL IS OWAIN AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!” Brady screamed, barely noticing the tears now gushing down his redeemed cheeks. Henry wore a look of genuine panic. He had never seen the healer worked up like this before.

“Uh… Brady, I really have no clue what you’re talking about. Are you OK?” Henry asked, voice wavering. He turned away and stomped to the other side of the tent. “Oof! What’s gotten into you?!” he asked, but Brady was already tearing through his stuff.

It took Henry a moment to process what had happened, during which Brady had messily gone through his desk before moving to the dresser. “Hey, wait! Don’t mess up my clothes! What are you even looking for?” he called, which made the healer pause and glare at him with tear-rimmed eyes.

Brady looked at the now visibly worried mage and paused. Could he really be mistaken for a third time? What were the odds that Henry had made fruit puns and and appeared right before the mango did? Could he really be innocent after all? Brady decided to give him the benefit of the doubt one last time. “Right after ya left my tent this mornin’, I found a mango with Owain’s brand on it on the bed. I haven’t seen ‘im all day. Ya get what I’m goin’ for?”

Henry’s expression changed from scared to puzzled. “What? A mango? What are you trying to ask?” he asked, genuinely confused at what the priest was trying to imply.

“I’M ASKING YA IF YOU TURNED MY BOYFRIEND INTO A DAMNED MANGO!!” he bellowed. Henry was stunned for a few seconds, before his signature smile returned to his face and he let out a hearty laugh.

“Hahaha, good one, Brady! You really had me going for a second there!” he chuckled, which just made Brady even more flustered.

“Hey! This ain’t no laughin’ matter! I’ve been lookin’ for him all mornin’ and-” he was cut off by a sound just outside the tent. Someone peeked into the tent, and Brady turned to see who it was.

“Brady? Is that you? What’s going on?”

Shit.

It was Owain.

Henry laughed again “Hey, Owain! Brady’s in here, he was just looking for you!”, and waved the swordsman inside. He stepped into the now-crowded tent and tried to take in the scene. Brady was in tears, braced against Henry’s dresser. The desk was a mess, papers and tomes scattered on the floor as if someone had gone through it hastily. Henry was sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling as always, seemingly oblivious to the havoc Brady was wreaking.

“Oh, uh… Owain. I, uh- I was just lookin’ fer ya!” Brady stuttered, shocked to see his companion there in the (human) flesh.

“I was patrolling the grounds of our fortress, seeking vengeance on any who would try to circumvent our defenses!” he boasted, his soliloquy met with 2 blank stares (assuming Henry closing his eyes in his direction counted as a stare). “I was guarding the camp! Today was my shift, don’t you remember? What are you doing in here?”

Before Brady had time to answer, Henry chimed in. “Oh, Brady was looking for you and yelling all morning because he thought I turned you into a mango, nya-ha!” he chuckled, his voice showing no signs of concern at Brady’s actions.

“…a mango?” Owain repeated, cocking an eyebrow. He looked up at Brady, whose face was currently a shade of red matched only by the homemade beet soup Gregor cooked on occasion.

“You thought Henry turned me into a mango?” he asked again. There was a moment of silence.

Brady was the first to laugh, with Owain joining in with his thundering cackle, and Henry with his… Henry laugh following. He should’ve been crying with relief that Owain was okay, or out of frustration for his stupidity that morning, but at that moment the sheer ridiculousness of the day’s events hit him at full force, and all he could do was hoot until he was doubled over, tears flowing from mirth rather than misery.

It took a few minutes for the laughter to wind down, at which point Brady apologized profusely to Henry and re-organized all of his belongings that he had gone through, until there wasn’t a sheet out of place or a book off the shelf. Henry, to his credit, took the outburst in stride, and Brady was glad to leave his tent with all his internal organs mostly intact. Satisfied with the knowledge that his lover was not a mango, he picked up his staff and took up his shift at the healing tent.

—

He didn’t see Owain again until that evening, as they collapsed into bed together, too tired after the day’s events for anything more than holding each other. As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, Brady suddenly remembered something that had been nagging at him all day.

“Say, Owain… I’m glad yer okay, but I gotta ask… what’s with the mango with yer brand on it?”

Owain rolled (well, more like flopped) over to face his beloved, already further gone than he. He muttered something akin to “what brand mango?” as he raised an eyebrow.

“Just… when I was lookin’ fer ya after breakfast I found a mango here in bed, and it had yer brand on it. Know anythin’ ‘bout that?” Brady asked.

“Uhh… oh… yeah, the mangooo… mother brought me hers from breakfast, but I told ‘er a true hero like myself could provide his own sustenance, and told her to leave it in my tent for later…” Owain mumbled gently, eyelids fluttering as he fought off sleep for another minute.

“Oh… but why’d it have yer brand?” Brady reiterated, hoping for an answer so he could doze off with a clear head. He felt the bed shift slightly as he moved closer, taking the priest in his strong arms as he struggled to keep his eyelids open. “And why was Henry makin’ jokes ‘bout mangos?”

“I dunno” Owain confessed, soothed by the warmth of his companion beside him, “but I think it was fruity punny, don’t you?” he asked.

The load groan from inside the tent would’ve been mistaken for something far dirtier had anyone been within earshot. Owain chuckled lightly to himself as he finally relaxed and drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> ayy lmao


End file.
